Mother
by Kirameku Awa
Summary: Everyone had a mother once...even the Italies did... Grandpa Rome x OC May change rating as time goes on.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey guys! I know I haven't been updating in a long time, things were crazy because I...JUST MOVED. Yeah I just moved and it was such a hassle, but that isn't an excuse! I will try to update more and be on for you guys! Now just a little idea popped into my head: We know Grandpa Rome is a ladies man, I mean...he IS Italian. But we never met or explored the concept of a woman in his life. I will do just that. Now I would like to make this a many part story but that it up to you guys. If you like it and want more, tell me in a review! Also if you would like me to write any stories, it would be great to know! Thank you guys!

Now without further adieu...

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Everyone has a mother. Everyone. From the girl down the street to the old man at the library, everyone had a mother at one point of their life. Feliciano and Romano remember a woman who was like their mother growing up.

They always tell the stories different, Feliciano will tell everyone that she was beautiful and go into great detail how beautiful she really was. Even if she didn't look beautiful by today's standards, he would swear up and down that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He would tell everyone that she used to sing to him when he couldn't sleep, when he painted, she admired every brushstroke; she would make food that he liked and anything that she asked from him, he would gladly give her.

She was his favorite babysitter, someone he was proud to call mother.

Romano tells everyone how she would pick him up and spin him around in a fast circle to make him dizzy. The result would make him dance around in an adorable way, trying to regain his balance, until he fell down on his rump. It never failed to make him laugh, although he regretted telling Antonio this...tomato bastard...

He knew that she was tough on them both, even if Feliciano doesn't remember or mention it. She expected a lot from him, being as he was the older brother. He also knew that she loved them more than she loved grapes, her favorite fruit, or cooking for them. She enjoyed making food and she always made the best olive oils. He loved her smile...the loving, accepting and never fading smile...sometimes he sees that smile in Antonio, but it doesn't make him happy...

It saddens them to remember her because they are forced to think about Grandpa Rome when they do.

Although they didn't know this when they were little, their favorite mother was a servant of Grandpa Rome.

Although they didn't like it, they knew there was a story behind her that needed to be told...this is that story.

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Eh? Like it? No? Send me some feedback guys, I'm really outta practice...T.T


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So...chapter 2!

I own nothing~!

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Alba never asked for the life she lived. She was a young girl, only twelve or so. She was plain and simple, but many believed she was some kind of witch or divine woman, someone who could look on the gods and not be blinded by the light that followed them.

She didn't believe in any gods and instead focused on working her life away as a slave for an evil old man. She lived in a city where she couldn't pronounce the name, nor did anyone care. She couldn't read or write but that mattered nothing as her job was to weave, cook, clean and please her master in any way possible. ANY WAY.

Alba watched many girls, young and older catch the eye of the currant master, only to be taken into the bed chambers. They were all given a choice: choose yes to his advances...or die.

A few were too brave...and Alba, being the plain one, was forced to take care of the bodies. And yet the thing that bothered her most wasn't that he was doing it. Oh no...it was that no one seemed to care that her master's more beautiful slaves would go missing or become round with a child. It didn't matter if the baby survived or if the woman died. No one cared about a slave girl.

It was a sad fact of life. She was nothing but an object of wealth. nothing more than a coin to be traded and used, until she had no use. Alba picked the olives that gave the sweetest oil and prayed that today she would be spared. That someone would come save her from the life that she lived, from the fear that she always felt when the master walked into the room. And yet...no one ever came...and her time for the bedchambers was drawing nearer and nearer every day.

Today was different though...it felt like something...someone was coming for her. The master of the house had left her alone for a while, being as most of her senses were true. But he would ignore her warnings and have his way with her.

It was late into the day when Alba noticed the men in the streets. They were marching into the city, swords raised. She grew scared when they advanced onto the middle of the city. She grabbed all the servant girls and boys and hid them in the olive grove while she dressed in fancy clothes. When the guards came to the door, they didn't think that she was a servant, but rather the woman of the house. They forced her out into the street with the other women and stripped her of all her riches.

A man, a great tall man with brown curled hair and red cloak started walking around the women. They were all older women, with Alba being the smallest and youngest. He spoke Latin and the women were divided into two groups, the older and less attractive in one, the more beautiful in another.

He looked at Alba and stopped. She felt scared and exposed, like he was staring straight into her soul.

"Ego rogavi pro omnibus mulieribus hostium tectis egerentem. Quem cum interrogassem quis puellae." (1) 'I thought I asked for all the women in the houses. I didn't ask for the girl.'

The guard answered back in respective Latin, which gave her the time to think of a plan. If she ran, they would catch her and she would be killed. If she didn't...he would send her to die...She would die either way.

Alba couldn't help the tears that were coming to fall down her cheeks. She prayed to gods that she didn't believe in to save her. She wished for help, and hoped that they heard her.

"Cur clamas?" (2) 'Why do you cry?' The man wiped her cheeks and looked into her stormy gray eyes.

Alba only shook her head, not knowing how to answer him. He waited and nodded, speaking into a language she knew.

"I promise I won't hurt you...please...you will not be killed."

"I...my name is Alba...and I'm not a wealthy woman...I'm a slave girl...please don't kill me for trying to save my fellow servants..."

"Where are they? No harm will come to them."

"I...I cannot...I...no. I won't tell you."

The man in front of Alba didn't answer before Alba's master run and embraced her, calling her his wife and weeping at tears of joy. Alba was confused, and terrified, of his affection towards her. He wasn't planning on tonight being the night? He couldn't...not...no!

Alba struggled to open her mouth and scream, but it wasn't needed. The man in the red cloak grabbed her master away from her and quickly did away with him. He growled but composed himself once he saw the fear in her eyes.

"Father, Abuser, or Master?"

"M-master...and...a...abu..."

Alba never heard of that word before, but she struggled to speak it. She tried and tried but the man gently moved her hair out of her face and palmed her cheek. "Do not worry...suffering is over."

He asked again to see the other slaves and Alba pulled everyone out of the olive grove. He looked over everyone to make sure they were not mortally wounded. Alba held the two youngest, three and two years of age and calmed them when they fussed. The man held his hand out and instead of fearing this man, the children smiled and touched his fingers.

He spoke to his men who took their own slave or slaves until it was just Alba left. She was last again. She watched as others ran into the soldiers arms or stand quietly once the excitement subsided. They all smiled and waited to leave for the new homes they would soon have. Although Alba was happy to see them leave, a twane of sorrrow hit her. She wasn't choosen.

As everyone marched back to the place they once came from, the man in the red cloak picked Alma up like a sack of flour, smiling and laughing. Alma let out a child-like squeal of joy and terror before giggling softly. She couldn't contain herself from the giggling that fell like rain from the sky.

He carried her like this to a pair of grey horses, the likes Alma had never seen before. The man set her on the back of one and asked if she ever rode before. Alma was confused. Rode what?

"The horse. You can ride them and they can go really fast if you wish them to. This one is named Tiburus."

Alma gently touched his mane and down his back. He made a strange sound that frightened her, but the man smiled and gave her a fruit to feed him. As she did as he asked the horse calmed and began to nuzzle into her touch before the horse started walking down the dirt road.

"Ah!"

"Don't worry, he knows the way!" The man had gotten on his horse and walked side by side with Alma.

"W-where?"

"To my home, Rome!"

"Why should I trust him?"

"He trusts you."

The man said nothing more, but Alma felt a sense of pride. She patted his head and tugged on his mane when she started to slip off. The horse bolted forward and Alma screamed. But not in fear

She screamed with joy.

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A/N: So...chapter 3? Please?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: What's up, B*tches?

XD JK, I love you guys and I just found this dusty part of Chapter 3 in my old computer so...enjoy!

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Alba stood in a white room, windows letting in a breeze that cooled her sweaty skin.

Rome was hot and muggy in the summers, with long hot days full of the sun beating down on the workers' back, making the sheets of skin in front of her shiny with sweat. She smelled her cooking behind her, mouthwatering at the taste of succulent lamb with wine. Over a year ago, she would have begged to make such lavish food for her old master, but now, she all but perfected the art of roasting, curing, and stewing wild beasts.

The man in the red cape turned out to be the ruler of Rome, the emperor of this city and all his people. The city was clean and beautiful, the people calm and hardworking, though she didn't see much of the outside world.

Although he never kept her chained up in his home, she was only allowed outside when he went to the market (only because he wanted her to pick out the dinners for the week to come) and when it wasn't so hot outside and only in the courtyard garden. Alba never minded; she enjoyed cooking, she enjoyed the music that filtered the hallway, the laughter that echoed and filled her heart.

The older male servants treated her decently, the woman gossip and call her the favorite of the master, but she paid them no mind. She wasn't the favorite; it was only because she still retained her baby fat and young appearance that the master, Romulus, took pity on her. True to his word, he never treated her like a child or an unsavory woman; he was kind and even when she messed up or broken anything.

The dinner was almost ready and Alba gently took out a portion to take to his room. The music was angelic and sweet, almost heavenly and it followed her to his room; he sat there drawing something on the paper and looking extremely stressed.

"Albus," he spoke to the tall young servant boy, "go find the cook and ask when dinner would be prepared."

"Master Romulus," Alba stepped in and held out the food on a platter, "I brought you dinner."

He looked up and gently smiled, pushing aside the drawing, "Perfect timing, thank you Alba."

She sat the platter on the table and caught a glimpse of the drawing, darting her eyes away before getting caught peeking at the paper. She excused herself and made sure the other servants ate their dinners before sitting down to her own modest serving.

After dinner while everyone walked away to sleep off the meal, Alba cleaned the kitchen and wondered when her master would call her for dessert. Although he was consistent and ordered for dessert before the moon rose high in the sky, during these nights when he would pace, stressed and annoyed at something Alba couldn't possibly understand, he did appreciate the surprise dessert.

She poured a sweeter tasting wine and found the ripest fruit of the season before walking to the room and quietly asking for permission from the silent room, "Master? Are you awake? I have dessert and wine for you."

Hearing no response, Alba started to go back to the kitchen when a tired and worried voice stopped her, "Alba, come in…"

She walked in and set the food and drink in front on her master, worried of his state. His eyes were tired, with bags and wrinkles, his skin pale, and his strong shoulders sagging in defeat.

"Alba…thank you…was I a fair master to you?"

"Master? Are you feeling alright?"

"Was I fair?"

Alba looked at him and nodded, throat tight and eyes tearing up, "Master, what is happening?"

He smiled weakly and sadly, "I'm just tired…thank you, you can go to bed."

"Master…are you playing a game?"

"Um…yes. A war game...and it is apparent that I am losing."

"May I play? I watched the servants who fought before play before…may I try?"

With a heavy sigh and tired smile, he waved her over to the paper and told her to try her best.

The paper was a map of a valley and hill with enemies surrounding the roman-looking soldiers no matter where they were placed. Alba tried almost everything but it ended the same way, death for the Romans. She was about to give up when she remembered the hill.

"Master…what would happen if there were soldiers shooting down at the enemies from the high hill? There wouldn't be a need for more then maybe 50 men, and they would be archers."

Romulus stood over her and stared at the paper, a glimmer of a smile growing in his eyes. Why couldn't he use the hill to his advantage? He snatched the paper from the table and laughed loudly, "With this, we will win!"

Alba was happy to make him happy, but why all this joy over a servants' game of war?

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A/N: So...who wants the end of Chapter 3?

My old computer is getting wiped soon, so if so, let me know and if you like my story, review it. If not...please no hating on me, I just write stories.

Bye!


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